Never, never change
by MLaw
Summary: Napoleon and Illya enjoy a night on the town with their favorite woman. Origianlly posted for the Song-Story challenge on Section7mfu, Live Journal. The prompt was a you-tube video of Frank Sinatra singing, "The way you look tonight."


Napoleon Solo and his partner passed under the brightly lit neon marquee of the Roseland ballroom, both were elegantly attired in tuxedos for what was to be a special evening. As they stepped inside the first thing they noticed was the purple and cerise tent-like decor that created a definite harem effect. A big band was playing, and the room was filled with people enjoying the music while they danced, or stood drinking at the bar in the cocktail lounge.

The venue served many purposes in its time, ice skating, roller skating, fundraisers, parties and such, but tonight it would be all about dancing; cheek to cheek dancing, and celebrating a happy occasion.

Napoleon paused, surveying the dance floor, noting couples ranged in age from young to old, but there was only one woman for which his eyes searched.

"There she is," Illya nodded to the left with his head.

They both saw a hand raise above the crowd, waving a white linen handkerchief.

Napoleon grinned in anticipation as he glanced over to his partner.

"You know Kuryakin you cleaned up nicely for the occasion," he said taking note that his friend, known for wearing off the rack clothes, was wearing a very well 'fitted' white double-breasted tuxedo jacket with black trousers.

Napoleon was dressed in his black designer tux, with a white silk scarf draped around his bow-tied neck.

"And you my friend are as dashing as ever," Illya smiled. "Ah, here she comes."

A woman stepped from the crowd, clothed in an elegant gown, grey satin with a matching bolero jacket trimmed in silver beads.

"Aren't you the stunning beauty," Napoleon said as he took her hand, letting her do a little spin to show off her new outfit.

"Thank you, but I bet you say that to all the ladies!"

Illya took her hand and kissed it, being very European. "Yes he does, I can vouch for that, but with you ...he means it."

She laughed softly. "Well here I am with my two favorite men in the world. May I have this dance Napoleon? You understand don't you Illya, though I must admit you cut quite a handsome figure this evening. "

Illya nodded his approval as Solo escorted her onto the dance floor just as the music struck up a familiar tune,' Begin the Beguine.'

Napoleon led her around... moving and swaying in time with the music; when it was over they stopped for a moment to applaud the band.

There was a tap on Solo's shoulder. "May I cut in?" Illya asked, taking the lovely ladies hand from Napoleon's, just as the band began to play again, this time with a singer crooning into a microphone.

"Sorry chum, they're playing our song. You can have the next one." Solo whisked her away into a Foxtrot as the singer lilted away a song that dated back to the 1930's musical,'Swing Time, and sung by Fred Astaire. It had become a popular cover by so many but the version sung by Frank Sinatra stuck in Napoleon's head.

_"Someday, when I'm awfully low_

_When the world is cold,_

_I will feel a glow just thinking of you_

_And the way you look tonight._

_Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm_

_And your cheeks so soft_

_There is nothing for me but to love you_

_And the way you look tonight"_

_"With each word your tenderness grows_

_Tearin' my fear apart_

_And that laugh..wrinkles your nose_

_Touches my foolish heart"_

_"Lovely ... Never, never change_

_Keep that breathless charm_

_Won't you please arrange it? 'Cause I love you_

_Just the way you look tonight_"

The band broke into an instrumental with a lovely violin serenade.

"And that laugh that wrinkles your nose

It touches my foolish heart"

"You know that's true, your nose does wrinkle when you laugh," Napoleon whispered into her ear." She was positively glowing as she smiled at him.

"I hate to tell you, but your nose does the same thing...it must be a Solo trait," her laughter was like a hundred tiny bells, but behind that gentle façade she was one tough woman.

"No it doesn't," he frowned at her for a second, then laughed at himself. "You know these song lyrics fit you perfectly, like the man said,

"Lovely ... Don't you ever change. Keep that breathless charm, Won't you please arrange it? 'Cause I love you-just the way you look tonight...and every night, I might add. You do know how much I love you, don't you?"

"Mm, Mm, Mm, Mm,

Just the way you look tonight"

"Yes I do Napoleon, and thank you for making this a very special evening for me."

"Would that I could do this for you all the time." He kissed her lightly on the cheek.

Illya reappeared, anxiously awaiting his turn."If you are not too tired, may I have the next dance please?"

"No, konechno_but of course," she replied in Russian.

"Very good,"Illya finally smiled. "Your Russian is better than Napoleon's, but we will not tell him that. I tend to tease him unmercifully about his accents, especially his French."

"That's because Illya dear, you're not accustomed to the French-Canadian way of speaking. That's where his mother's side of the family hails from."

"Thank you for telling me that, as I never knew it...I must look into this French-Canadian dialect. Languages are so fascinating... many of them are related to..."

"Illya...the band has begun playing a waltz," Amy Solo called him from his thoughts.

"Oh yes, pardon me. A waltz, that is perfect...an elegant dance for an elegant lady," he smiled, whisking her into a gentle turn.

"My nephew is beginning to rub off on you, Illya dear," she paused as he finally let loose that crooked smile of his. "There it is, and so boyishly handsome, "You should smile more often...you are far too serious for

your own good."

Illya nodded, knowing she was most likely right. When the waltz ended he offered her his arm, escorting her back to where Napoleon waited.

"Well have you had enough, you're not tired are you?"

"Napoleon Solo just because I've just turned seventy does not make me a doddering old biddy, I could keep up with you any day," his Aunt Amy chastised him.

"Hmm, well I was going to ask if you were ready for dinner...and more dancing at the Plaza, but if you're going to bite my head off..."

"Napoleon, don't be childish; you're a tough old secret agent dodging bullets and bad men all the time, and you can't take a little comment by your favorite Aunt?" Amy laughed again.

"Well you got the 'favorite' part right," Illya interjected.

"Très drôle," Napoleon snickered in French.

Suddenly Illya and Amy broke out into laughter, a private joke, Solo assumed.

"To tell you the truth, my feet could use a little rest my darlings. Dinner and dancing again later on sounds like a lovely way to spend the rest of my birthday."

Illya and Napoleon each offered her their arms, and after retrieving her

wrap from the coat check, they hailed a taxi; heading out for more

festivities.

"I must say,"Amy commented," the best present of all has been to spend my birthday with the two of you. Napoleon you're more like a son to me, and Illya you are as well."

Both men blushed at that remark, not saying a word.

"Well now I know what it takes to make you two quiet...well maybe you Napoleon dearest. Our Illya is a bit on the less talkative side anyway."

Illya let out a loud whistle and a wave of his hand to hail a cab, and one pulled up curbside immediately as it had been trolling for a fair.

The neon lights of Manhattan sparkled through the taxi window, twinkling their colors on Amy's neatly coiffed silver-grey hair and reflecting on the silver trim of her jacket.

They headed down the busy avenue, towards the Plaza in anticipation of a wonderful evening yet to come.

"Yes it was a perfect birthday indeed," she decided.

"Penny for your thoughts," Napoleon leaned over, giving her another kiss on the cheek.

"Just happy, dear...very very happy."

"Good, that makes me happy too."

"Are you sure you're not tired, you're looking a bit pale."

"Napoleon, please, I'm fine."

.

Dinner at the Plaza and a bit more dancing continued until just past midnight, but Napoleon could see signs his Aunt was tiring. It was time to end the party.

Both he and Illya took Amy home to her penthouse, and she invited them up for a cup of tea, but both refused and insisted it was past their bedtime as well as hers.

"You know for spies, you really are terrible liars, "she laughed, giving each of them a kiss goodnight.

Napoleon and Illya waited until they heard the deadbolt click on the door before leaving, knowing she was safe and sound.

.

As Amy turned, she felt as though she couldn't catch her breath for a moment. She had to admit it, she was feeling tired, more so than usual or perhaps the word better describing it was 'drained.' She was an active woman, and this lack of energy befuddled her.

Walking into the foyer, she discovered to her surprise, a large vase of two dozen dark red roses, with white baby's breath. She plucked the card from it, reading it aloud.

"I hope this was a wonderful birthday for my bestest Aunt in the whole world. Never, never change. I love you! Napoleon."

She smiled, remembering that's what he always called her when he was so very young...his 'bestest Aunt."

That brought a tear to her eye, but out of nowhere, Amy felt a squeezing pain in her chest. She began having trouble breathing and became light-headed. She leaned on the table, trying to support herself as she wanted desperately to get to the telephone to call for help...but she never made it and collapsed on the marble floor, pulling down the vase of flowers with her, still clutching Napoleon's note in her hand.

She lay there, and slipped into unconsciousness, with the red roses scattered around her.

.

Napoleon's telephone rang at four in the morning, thinking it was headquarters calling. "Solo here," he answered, trying not to sound groggy.

"Hello Mr. Solo, this is Doctor Felix Manheim of Mount Sinai hospital..."

That made him sit bolt upright in his bed, his thoughts jumping immediately out of habit to Illya...wait, his partner was home in bed, not on assignment.

"Yes Doctor?"

"There's no good way to give this sort of news but straight out. Your Aunt, Amy Solo, has passed away. You were listed as the next of kin."

There was absolute silence.

"Mr. Solo, are you there?"

"Yes, sorry Doc. This comes as a shock. We were just out..."he looked at his wristwatch, "four hours ago, celebrating her seventieth birthday."

"I'm sorry for your loss Mr. Solo. We will need you to come down to the hospital, when it's possible, as there is paperwork to do."

"I understand, yes. Thank you... ugh, Dr. Manheim, she didn't suffer did she?"

"No Mr. Solo, she passed very quickly. It was a heart attack."

"Thank you." Napoleon, now in a daze, hung up the receiver. He couldn't believe it, Amy was gone. She was his rock, so much a part of his life while he was growing up. While his parents traveled the world, leaving his brother and sisters with a nanny, Napoleon chose to stay with Aunt Amy. She taught him so much, even about the birds and the bees...

.

The funeral was over, and Amy Solo was laid to rest in Mount Calvary cemetery. Afterwards there was a private reading of the will, and much to Napoleon's surprise, his Aunt left everything to him. All her money, antique furnishings, stocks, bonds, as well as her beautiful penthouse.

She included Illya in the will as well, leaving him some money as well and stock in a computer company, her entire library of books, and record albums she'd collected from around the world. The Russian was speechless and somehow embarrassed at having been included in Amy's will, while the rest of the Solo family had not.

He questioned that to his partner as they stood outside the lawyers office, both having a smoke.

"Napoleon it is not right that I have been given these things while your family receives nothing. I cannot accept your Aunt's generosity."

"Illya, she knew what she was doing when she had her will drawn up. As much as I love my family; they never approved of Amy and her lifestyle.

She was a free spirit and traveled the world alone. They thought she should stay at home and listen to her arteries harden and 'act her age,' as they called it. No, it's right that you keep what she willed to you. She said it herself on her birthday...you were like a son to her. I suppose that's why she pretty much left me everything, she said I was like a son as well, yes, more than just her nephew. I was her friend, confidant, and I loved her very much. I never judged her and accepted her just as she was. I told her that night at Roseland, to never never change..." He wiped a tear from his eye and gave a great sigh.

"She will never change, you will always have her in your heart my friend, as will I. Let us step to another subject...so now that you are a rich man, will you be leaving UNCLE?"

"No tovarisch, it's in my blood and besides I have a job to do, so do you. The only thing that will get me out of UNCLE is to be dead, and I don't plan on that happening anytime soon."

"I do not think Amy planned on that either, but death comes for us when it is ready."

"Oh thank you for that cheerful thought," Napoleon huffed, " Come on, let's find a bar and get stinking drunk. We need to toast to Amy Solo."

"Da, soglasen_ yes, I agree." Illya nodded.

They headed to the nearest bar, hiding themselves in a dimly lit back booth; Napoleon ordering his scotch on the rocks and Illya, vodka...neat of course.

"Here's to Amy Solo, the greatest woman there ever was in my life," Solo raised his drink in toast.

"Yes to a wonderful woman," Illya clicked his glass to Napoleon's and the both of them downed their drinks.

They ordered another round, and another until Solo paid the barkeep to just to leave the bottles.

It was nearing two in the morning when the barman finally yelled out 'last call,' to the moans and groans of his patrons.

"Hey, a guy has gotta get some sleep, you know. I'll be open at noon, so let's go everybody."

He headed back to the booth where the two UNCLE agents sat. "Come on fellas, I know yous is in mourning for this Amy dame. She must have been somethin' else, the way I heard yous talk about her.

Napoleon was half cross-eyed with the drink when he looked at the man."Amy Solo was no ddd-dame, she was a lady. A really classy lady and you remember thtttthat pal.

"Yes, you bolvan, thaaat is what she was, a lady, bozhe moy...what a lady she was, "Illya chimed in, though he'd drunk as much as his partner, he wasn't as nearly as inebriated.

"Come Napoleon, we must (hic) abandon this drinking establishment. I have scotch at home...we will go there."

The two men rose from their booth, staggering out the door arm in arm, hailing a taxi that took them to their apartment building. Together they managed to tackle the two flights of stairs up to Illya's place and as if Kuryakin were as sober as a judge, he entered the alarm code without a moment's hesitation.

Napoleon made his way over to the sofa while Illya headed to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of vodka from the freezer and the scotch from one of the cabinets.

"So what are you going to do with her cat, Bonaparte, my friend. I know you and he do not get along?" There was no answer, and Illya peeked out the kitchen door seeing Napoleon curled up on the sofa, sound asleep.

Illya put down the bottles on the coffee table, went into his bedroom and came out with a blanket. Once he removed Napoleon's shoes, and his Special from its holster, he covered him.

"Spokoynoy nochi moy drug, a mozhet u vas yest' priyatnyye sny_good night my friend. May you have pleasant dreams."

Illya picked up his bottle of vodka and after opening it, he raised it in one last toast before taking a long swig from it.

"Rest in peace Amy Solo. I promise I will look out for him, but I hope it will be a long time before you are both reunited."


End file.
